


After Hours

by MadameBizarre



Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: Argit isn't a nice or tender guy, Claws, Dominance, F/M, M/M, Masochism, Other, Sadism, but for one second he is just for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameBizarre/pseuds/MadameBizarre
Summary: You don't know how you ended up in his office, nor why you have stayed for the night, but you DO know what you are getting into...or so you thought.





	After Hours

“You see, that’s the thing with you humans: you’re all so... _ squishy _ .”

He puts further emphasis on the word with a tight squeeze to your hip, digging his claws into your flesh. You wince at the pain as it sears into your blood and down between your thighs; there will be glowing red crescents long after, but you honestly don’t mind. You  _ know  _ the alien won’t mind either, if anything he sets a heavy stare down where the hand is while his face slowly breaks into a cruel smile. Sick son of a bitch, and yet you really should not be cursing him since you  _ are  _ there, not even budging to get away. So who are you to be a hypocrite? Was that sting of pain not coiling in your gut in a ball of aching heat?

Smoke blows into your face, bringing your attention to the sharp-eyed bastard standing beside your seat. The cigarette between his slender fingers is half-way done with ash tapping out onto the tacky rug he has in the office. 

“Don’t give me that face, you  _ knew  _ what you were getting into.”

What  _ were  _ you doing there anyways? How did you end up in Argit’s sleazy place way past business hours?

The sharp scrape of his supinated hand up your midsection stops your thoughts before anything can be answered. He pinches at your side -- your ‘love handles’ as many would call them -- and you jump with a yelp. His hand slaps over your closest wrist before you can lift it, caging it in his bony, clawed grasp to the chair’s arm. He lifts the cigarette to his lips one more time for another inhale and exhale, all the while he looks you straight in eye. He is unamused as his hand brings the butt of his smoke dangerously close to your backhand -- the heat looming over you skin and spreading goosebumps under the surface. Your fingers curl into fists, his lips spread over his large canines and smoke seeps out the crevices between each sharp ivory.

“Don’t you fucken dare.” You hiss.

Argit raises a brow, because you have a completely free hand to use against him…..but it never raises.

A second later you are feeling a whole new level of stinging pain that causes your back to lift from the chair, and the alien grinning viciously. He smothers it into your flesh, yellow eyes concentrated on every little twitch of your face that screams agony, yet also breathless pleasure that you try so hard to hide by biting you bottom lip. Once the end of his smoke looks like frayed wires, Argit pulls it away to flick in the trash beside his desk. He doesn’t let go on your wrist though, and he eyes the red circle now cooling off in the middle of your backhand.

“Listen here babe, this is how it’s gonna go down. You're gonna yell Plumbers if it gets to be too much, and if it ain't, you’re gonna be a good little human and sit patiently.”

“How sweet,” You pant, still coming down from the pain. “You’re giving us a safety word.”

“Hey! I’m not into any of that ‘noncon’ shit some other sickos may like. I get my quills quivering in a different way, one which you obviously like.” He lifts your wrist up so your arm is laying on your elbow. You know exactly what he’s about to do, and how it  _ won’t  _ be the last time either.

“And if I continue to disobey?” You smirk.

“Then it’s gonna be a long night in this office.”

When his maw opens to reveal the rows of razor blade teeth he owns, you feel a hot shiver run down your spine and your temple break out into a cold sweat against the fire that is your skin currently. You are a mess of nerves in more than one way, from fear, to excitement. It all tightens between your thighs in a painfully delicious way that leaves you a lax puddle of heated desire in the chair. Finally his head tilts to gain a better angle over your arm so he can continue watching you. Sharp points begin to bend your tender flesh, then blood drizzles down, bright and scarlet, leaving you to grunt, whimper, and at last choke on a cry. Your eyes shut tight, your body lifting once more in a convulsion of feverish pain. 

Once he is done, you feel the coarseness of his tongue lap over the wounds, cleaning up the streaks of blood that will only be replaced by more soon after. “Gross.”

Then why the fuck did he do it in the first place, you think, but never voice. You can’t when your watery eyes watch him admiring his bite mark as if it is the most amazing thing since living on Earth. His gaze looks to you, devilish glee gleaming in his pupils. 

“See what I mean -- squishy. Will admit though, it leaves a man quite satisfied.” 

If the devil had a twin, it was Argit.

He further proves it the rest of that night. He doesn’t ask you to remove your shirt, he  _ demands  _ it. The same goes as to where you  _ don’t  _ want to have smoldering red trails and deep teeth imprints and burning crescents on your sensitive skin, leaving you with more than enough to last you a lifetime. Neither does he raise an eye to you when he literally tears off your underwear as if it were butter. Most of all, he doesn’t  _ touch  _ you where you crave it the most, and justify it as your fault for “Not being very nice” since you keep cursing at him --  _ disobeying _ him. And how the hell were you to know he enjoyed seeing you squirm and being dominant over you. You knew a little about what you were getting into, how much of a bastard he was, and yet you never utter the word ‘plumbers’. 

At one point you almost did, but perhaps he saw the look or smell of pure anxiety, because before he finally goes to lay a sharpened finger where he knows you’ve been keening for it the most, Argit stops. He switches the finger for his palm, then gives you a few seconds where his eyes look at you from his lowered head -- awaiting to see if this too will be too much, but hiding it. You are able to catch your breath, then he’s petting you -- not gently either, even  _ if  _ he had just given you a small break.

Your chest heaves as white flames lick over your every muscle. Every time his hands are on you it sends frantic shocks of raw ecstasy up your entire body that coil together into one big ball of fire. You become so flushed and flustered, your face is a red mess of tears, as if you have broken out into a fever. You may as well have, because it feels like a feverish dream of pain and sexual elation. Who knew you were so into pain?

Towards the end of it he’s between your spread thighs, but not as close a lover might be -- especially since his stature is short, hence why you have been sitting the whole time. He’s completely clothed and has never made one move to even brush over himself though you can see how excited he has become. It must be part of his dominance thing, you surmise while you wiggle in the chair. His palm eases away to his fingers without you realizing it, yet there is no pain, just the same earnest euphoria that causes your body no rest.

When the blaze of lust finally hits its peak, engulfing you in one last spasm of delectation with a sobbing cry, you do your damn best to catch air in your throat. You don’t see how interested and absolutely triumphant Argit looks when everything about you curls in on itself, as if you can not handle the orgasm and are trying to get away from it. He is quick to wipe the look before you finally open your bleary eyes.

“Make sure to tell your friends.” He turns away to his desk. “Lock the door on your way out.”

You don’t argue over the sudden ending, pushing over your shaky legs to grab your clothes, or what's left of them after he’s clawed through them. You feel his eyes on you, even as you dress, but there is nothing else to discuss. All he offers as you after locking the door is:

“If you’re up for more, come back next week, same time.”

And you give him a pondering look, as if you are truly thinking it over, before finally your lips curl up and there is a glint in your eyes.

“Have some Neosporin and bandages ready.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Someone: wow, where did u get that weird burn mark and cat claw marks?
> 
> Reader:....i got too close to a fucken gremlin
> 
> Argit: uhhhm excuse the fuck out of you too, those are the claws of a strong AMAZING man


End file.
